


Wand of Elm

by Cantatrice18



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Childhood, Gen, Illegitimacy, Vignette, Wand chooses the wizard, Wandlore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-26
Updated: 2016-10-26
Packaged: 2018-08-27 02:03:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8383606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cantatrice18/pseuds/Cantatrice18
Summary: The wand chooses the wizard, as every child in the wizarding world knows. But what if a wand might be persuaded to change its mind...
Narcissa Black receives her first wand from Ollivander's, and gains an unexpected ally.





	

"This is ridiculous."

The woman glared at Mr. Ollivander, her green eyes flashing with righteous indignation. "A pureblood daughter of the Black House requires an elm wand. It is absolutely essential."

"Madam, the wand chooses the wizard," Mr. Ollivander demurred. "If Miss Black is not chosen by an elm wand, it is simply because her talents are best served with a wand of a different material. Perhaps willow, eight inches, unicorn--"

"Outrageous!" The woman's pointed face was an unpleasant shade of red as she fingered her own wand menacingly. "Our family has wielded wands of elm for generations. Another wood is out of the question. If you are unable to see her obvious suitability for an elm wand, I will simply have to take my business elsewhere." 

Behind her, a pale girl with hair so fair it was nearly white sat facing the vast rows of shelves that encircled the store. On the floor at her feet boxes of polished wands were piled, their precious contents poking out from amidst the paper wrapping. The girl looked at the various gleaming wands, all the deep, rich color of elmwood, her blue eyes full of tears. Her mother continued to argue with Ollivander, but the girl paid them no heed. One of the wands, half-buried in a stack to her right, caught her eye. The handle was dotted with nubs of silver that made it look almost like a medieval mace. She reached for it, lifting it out of the box and holding it in her lap. The wood remained cold and dull, a sure sign of rejection, yet the silver on the handle drew her in. If only it was a mace, it could protect her, keep her safe from the rumors that surrounded her. She knew full well why her Mother insisted on elm for her wand. The whispers that she might not be a Black daughter at all, that her mother might have taken a lover and borne him a child, had dogged her steps since she was born. Her looks, her slight frame, her retiring nature, all contributed to the suspicion that she was not who her Mother claimed her to be. Now, without a pureblood's wand, the gossip would redouble. And this time, it would be she who was blamed. "Please," she whispered to the wand, bending her head over her lap so that her long hair fell down past her shoulders to obscure her and the wand from view. "Please choose me. I may not be what you want, but I'll try, I promise I'll try. Just please, help me. I can't let Father down again."

The memory of her father's face, of the look of disappointment and scorn he so often wore when he looked her way, caused the girl to let out a quiet sob, tears falling onto the plain black skirt she wore. One droplet fell onto the wand's handle, and she hurriedly dried it on her blouse. As she rubbed it, looking around anxiously to see if she'd been spotted, she felt the wood grow warm in her hands. An odd, tingling feeling eased slowly up her fingers and into her arms, moving faster and faster until it filled her entire body. When it reached the very top of her head, the wand emitted a bright musical note that rang out through the room, silencing the girl's mother and Mr. Ollivander at once. Both turned to look at the girl in amazement. For her part, the child clutched the wand tightly to her chest, her eyes closed, an expression of beatific contentment upon her face. The woman turned to Mr. Ollivander. "See? I told you she was meant for an elm wand. Not a purer bloodline in England than our family."

Mr. Ollivander was examining the wand the girl held with intense interest. "Fascinating," he remarked in his breathy voice. "Elm and dragon heartstring, eleven and a quarter inches. A warrior's wand."

The girl's eyes opened and she looked steadily at Mr. Ollivander, her usual timidity forgotten. "It will be my warrior," she said simply, "and I will be its mistress."

The woman, who had paid no attention as her daughter spoke, now shoved a purse in Mr. Ollivander's direction. "Take what you're owed from there," she commanded, "and be quick about it. We've other stores to get to as well."

Mr. Ollivander retrieved the cost of the wand from the contents of the purse, his eyes still on the girl reverently holding the silver-studded wand in both hands. When he'd finished, he gave the purse back to the woman, who pocketed it and gestured imperiously toward the girl. "Come, Narcissa," she commanded, gliding regally to the door with all the haughty grace of a duchess. Ducking her head obediently, the girl hopped off the plain wooden chair and followed her Mother. At the doorstep she paused, looking back at Mr. Ollivander. Her hand moved to the lining of her coat where she'd stowed her new wand and her lips curved into the first smile he'd seen since she'd entered the shop. A moment later she had gone, and he was left gazing after her as she and her mother disappeared into the crowd of shoppers. He returned to the pile of tried wands and began to replace each one in its box, wondering what might make a wand of elm, the noblest of woods, decide to change its mind.


End file.
